


The Making of a Man

by Emphysematous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Come Eating, Daddy Kink, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Masturbation, Humiliation, I am so sorry, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11267841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphysematous/pseuds/Emphysematous
Summary: Picking up from the end of Chapter 24 of Clash of Kings. Theon has returned to Pyke with Robb's message to Balon, but Pyke is not at all how he expected. Luckily, his uncle Euron makes a surprise visit to offer him some helpful advice.Things do not go well for Theon.For the Theon Fanworks Exchange.My prompt was: "Euron/Theon Daddykink. Humiliation, D/s, manipulation into sex, very dark and taboo"MIND THE TAGS!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up from the moment that chapter 24 in Clash of Kings ends. Super quick summary: _Theon has returned to Pyke to try to talk his father into joining Robb’s cause, but ends up being pulled into his father’s own plans. He has just left Balon’s solar, where he was told he’d be taking eight longships to harry the coast and create a distraction so that Asha can take Deepwood Motte. Asha has had to help him after he stumbled on the rope bridge from the Sea Tower_
> 
> Written for the Theon Greyjoy Fanworks Exchange 2017. I hope my giftee enjoys. 
> 
> This goes some very dark places. Proceed with caution.

Asha left him at the second bridge, sauntering off with her easy stride to seek out more stimulating company than her wet pup of a baby brother. In a daze of despair and humiliation, Theon crossed the echoing solidness of the fourth and final bridge, passed into the dank chill of the Bloody Tower and climbed wearily to the dank chill of his rooms. Not even the combined efforts of the hearth fire, braziers and sconces could bring warmth to the cavernous chambers and the dark ceiling dripped condensation into puddles on the floor. His orders had been followed and the floor rushes dutifully exchanged but it had made little difference; the new were spotted with mould rather than brittle with age. The dour rooms suited his mood. 

Theon dropped his wet cloak into a heap over a chair and piled more fuel onto the fire. The sparks and crackles would have normally been cheering, but tonight they sounded hollow and pitifully small in this big, cold place. Much like himself. He screwed his face up and rubbed at his eyes. He was no good here. He had received nothing but contempt and insult from the moment he had stepped ashore. It seemed Pyke had turned its back on its rightful heir, and so Pyke could crumble into the sea and take the whole lot of them to meet the fucking Drowned God for all it mattered to him. It would be hard to return to Robb having failed to bring his father to their side, but he was needed at the right hand of the King in the North, to guide and support him to his victory, not skulking on a rowboat harassing fishing villages for coppers and trinkets at the behest of a man too stupid to heed his insights. No, the Iron Islands would crumble into obscurity while he and Robb conquered the North - and perhaps the whole damn kingdom. 

Standing straighter with this new resolve, Theon started to pour himself some wine, but instead decided to just take the bottle to his bedchamber. He’d need the wine’s heat to get through another night of this cold. The fire in the other room had been left to burn out; only a few weakly glowing embers remained, and Theon cursed at the witlessness of these useless Pyke thralls as he knelt and struggled to get the damp logs to catch a flame. 

“You’d do better to use the kindling twigs. They’re drier and will burn more easily.” A rusty voice from behind him made him jump near out of his skin. He whirled around to the door to face the intruder, hand already drawing his freshly-honed dirk, but the tolerant chuckle came from his left - from his bed. 

A pale face framed by dark hair loomed out of the shadows as a man sat up, shrugging off the cloak - Theon's cloak - that had covered him. One piercing light blue eye creased up with affectionate laughter. A pallid hand flourished and a large shiny coin appeared between sinewy fingers. The turning and twisting motion of it stirred long-dormant memories in Theon's mind. He squinted into the gloom. “Uncle... Euron?”

A toothy grin. There was a flash of moving fingers and the coin disappears, only to reappear in his other hand. “Ah! He remembers! And how is my favourite nephew?” The bed creaked as Euron shuffled on his backside to perch himself on the edge, crossing his legs primly and laying his hands neatly in his lap. His posture was naggingly familiar to Theon, but he couldn’t quite place it. 

“What… what are you doing here?” Theon let his dagger hand drop to his side, but did not resheath it. He only had vague memories of his eldest uncle but he knew Aeron and Victarion had feared him and when you’re a child, something that scared an adult was a frightening thing indeed.

“Watching you make a mess of things, boy.” Euron stood and stretched, making bones in his spine crack loudly. Theon flushed angrily and opened his mouth to defend himself, to explain that it wasn’t  _ his _ fault his father was too narrow-minded to take his advice, it wasn’t  _ his _ fault he’d been held captive for a decade and all of Pyke had turned to chaos in his absence. But his uncle ambled amiably past him and dropped to kneel at the hearth. With bare hands he lifted out the large log Theon had thrown in there, heedless of the glowing sparks that fell from it. 

“You go straight to the big pieces and they’ll never burn. Too wide. Too solid.” He took Theon’s dirk from his unresisting hand and used it to lever off lengths of bark and thin strips of pale wood. “But if you break a big piece down, into smaller, weaker sections…” He placed a handful one by one onto the embers and smiled as they each burst into bright, cheerful flame. “You’ll start the fire burning. And once the small pieces have caught…” He grunted as he broke off a thicker wedge of the log, then threw it in on top of the burning twigs. “...you can get larger ones to catch too. And once large pieces are in play, you can burn  _ anything _ .” His grinning face looked momentarily sinister as he stared gleefully into the flickering orange firelight. And then he dusted his hands off and climbed to his feet. “Do you see?”

“I… see.” Theon murmured, feeling more confused than enlightened. 

Euron chuckled again and patted him kindly on the shoulder. “You don’t, yet. But you will.” He perched once again on the edge of the bed and leaned forward and for a moment he looked just like Sansa gossiping at a tea party with the other young women at Winterfell. “So. Ten years a captive seems to have done you no great harm on the surface of things...”

“The Starks treated me very fairly.” Theon replied, stiffly. He mentally shook himself. “But Euron, what are you  _ doing here _ ? Shouldn’t you have been at the council tonight? And the feast?”

Euron waved his words away with a dismissive hand. “No, no no. Balon’s feasts and little war plans are of no interest to me.” He leaned back on his hands, kicking his feet like a child. “No. One of my bastards turned fifteen yesterday so I came back to Man him and I’ll be gone again on the morning tide. But I couldn’t come all the way to Pyke knowing my favourite nephew is here and not visit him!” He flicked his fingers again and the coin leapt into the air, spinning too fast to see. He caught it between finger and thumb and presented it to Theon with a flourish. 

Theon took it with an obedient half-laugh. “Honoured as I am, your compliment falls somewhat flat when I remember that I’m your  _ only _ nephew.”

“Well, that’s as may be. But the point still stands. How are you, lad? Good to be home? Come and sit down, for fuck’s sake, don’t stand there on ceremony like I’m your liege lord.” He patted the bed next to him and Theon awkwardly sat down - it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go - that was  _ his  _ bed. 

“Home is… not what I expected.” Shit. He hadn’t actually meant to say that, but the words were out. 

Euron leaned back onto his elbows, reclining with unexpected grace on the sagging mattress and musty bedding. “What did you expect? Trumpets and processions and banquets in your honour?”

“Well… not exactly…” Theon frowned. “Wait,  _ what _ were you doing with your bastard yesterday?”

Euron sighed heavily. “I thought you might have over-imagined. Pyke is much more… reserved, after Balon’s defeat.”  _ Balon’s  _ defeat, Theon noted. Not the Iron Islands’ defeat. “There’s not as much pomp and circumstance as there was when you were a boy. Not that there was much of it even then, to be honest. Have you ever seen a parade in Mereen?” Theon shook his head impatiently, when would he have ever been to Mereen, held hostage in Winterfell for the last ten years? 

Euron was gazing into the mid-distance, remembering. “A thousand slaves in copper collars. Five hundred virgins in yellow dresses dancing in unison. Horses in gold harness pulling a chariot studded with pearls and emeralds. Phenomenal.” He shook his head and focused back on Theon. “I’ll take you one day. Would you like that, lad? To go sailing around the world at your uncle’s side? I’ll show you things you never could have imagined. Teach you all the magics I’ve collected from all the corners of civilisation and beyond. How about it?” He sat up and held out his hand to shake. 

For a moment, Theon was going to accept. Not just accept, but jump at it. Escape all this Pyke shit and all the people who hated him because of what his father or foster father had done? Fuck yes. Go to new, exotic places and fuck new, exotic women in new exotic ways? Fuck yes. To come triumphantly home decked in gold chains and gemstones with a harem of gorgeous whores at his feet to tell his traveller’s tales to Robb and Jon over spirits and smoking herbs… And then he blinked. Robb. He was going to go back to Robb and they were going to make him King in the North. 

He withdrew the hand he’d extended and shook his head. “There’s a war... “ he mumbled. 

Euron laughed heartily. “Do you really give a shit about Balon’s little ‘war’? Would you really turn down the world so that you can do your daddy’s donkey work for him?” He shrugged. “Your call, lad.” He tossed the coin into the air again. 

Theon remained silent. He wasn’t going to accept his uncle’s offer, but he wasn’t going to say the words to turn him down and the definitely wasn’t going to explain that it had been  _ Robb’s _ war that had stayed his hand, not his father’s. He stared moodily into the fire, which was burning merrily now that Euron had fixed it. Fuck. He couldn’t even light his own fucking fire. His lip quivered. 

Euron clicked his tongue and stood. “Alright then, son.” He stretched and looked around the room. “It was good to see you. Good to see you’ve grown well. I worried about you, taken from your family when you were just a child. I told Balon the wolves could never raise a kraken right. They don’t know our ways.” He cocked his head. “Did he hurt you? Last night? I know he was angry. Are you… okay? It can be difficult if you’re older.”

“What?” Theon scoffed. “No, he didn’t  _ hurt _ me. He bitched and scolded and berated me, but he didn’t lay a finger on me.”

“Didn’t lay…?” Euron stared at him with that one milky blue eye. “He didn’t touch you?” He seemed suddenly earnest. “He didn’t, he didn’t touch you at  _ all _ ? In  _ any _ way?” He gestured vaguely with his hands. “You can tell me, lad. I’m your blood. Greyjoy through and through. We’ve all done it.”

Theon stared at him in utter bemusement. “He’s never touched me.” His skin suddenly felt cold as the truth of that statement hit him. “He’s…  _ never _ … touched me. Ever.” He looked up at Euron, eyes suddenly brimming with unwanted tears. “Why does he hate me so much? He’s  _ always _ hated me. What did I do?”

Wordlessly, Euron reached into his shirt and pulled out a hip flask from a hidden pocket. He handed it to Theon, who took a long gulp. His throat burned and he coughed. “Even when I was small!” He blurted out, the dam broken now. “He always looked at me like I was out of place. We’d all be doing drill and Rod would get a handshake and Maron would get a shoulder clap and Asha would get picked up and swung around and I’d get a nod. A fucking  _ nod _ ! And not even that, half the time! He never speaks to me unless he has to, he never acknowledges me unless he’s made to. He sent me away to life under the sword of the man who killed his sons! My brothers! He sent me to live with my brothers’ murderers! Would he have cared if Ned Stark had beheaded me? Why didn’t he want me? How could he have tossed me aside so easily?”

He took another swig from the flask and hissed, rubbing at his lips. “And all of Pyke are laughing at me! Asha made me look a fucking perverted fool. On  _ purpose _ . And no one at all shows me any respect or courtesy. I’m their fucking  _ prince _ and they talk to me like I’m some cabin boy or something. But Asha strides down to the docks and they all jump to serve her every whim! A fucking  _ woman _ on a warship!” He spat into the fire and clumsily fumbled with the flask’s stopper. Euron took it gently from his hands. 

“Theon, son, you do know why the Ironborn don’t respect you, don’t you?” He dragged Theon’s chair over to the bed and sat next to him, hands clasped around the flask in his lap. 

“Because they’re all cunts.” Theon declared viciously, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. 

Euron chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t disagree with you in the majority of cases, but.. No. Theon…” he hesitated and clicked his tongue, trying to find the words. “The problem is that they still see you as a boy. A child.”

“I’m fucking twenty one this year!” Theon nearly spat, half staggering to his feet before flopping back down on the edge of his bed. Euron waved him to be quiet. 

“It’s not your age, it’s… it’s your experience. You haven’t had… a Man’s, uh, seasoning. You’re not worldly or mature in the way that they expect Ironborn men to be.”

Theon laughed. “If it’s world experience they want, I’ve seen men killed - and killed men myself, for that matter. I’ve fought and drunk and fucked. I’ll wager I’ve fucked more women than any dozen Ironborn men put together--”

Euron shook his head and grinned. “No one’s doubting your… your prowess, son. It’s just… fuck.” He held up his hands. “Look. You know the difference between a girl and a maiden and a woman and a wife, yes?”

“What?” Theon blinked, frowning. “Are you talking about flowering and virginity and whatever? H started to smirk, was his uncle attempting to give him The Talk? Oh, this would be good. 

“Yes, sort of. Well, no, but…” Euron rubbed at the back of his neck. “Okay. So you have a girl child, unflowered, yes?” Theon nodded intently, showing polite but baffled interest. “And after her flowering, she’s a maiden, ripe for the plucking, yes?” Another nod, with a grin. “And once she’s been plucked, she’s no longer a maiden, she’s a woman grown, yes?” Nod. “And once a man weds her, she becomes a wife!” he beamed at Theon in conclusion. Theon stared blankly at him; a large section appeared to have been glossed over.  

“Don’t you see? You would treat all of those people differently. You would talk to a girl in a different way than you would flirt with a maiden or jest with a woman and those are different from the proper and polite way you’d converse with another man’s wife, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I… think so?” What the fuck was the old man rambling about? His head tilted slightly as he reconsidered. Not such an old man, actually. That was odd. Balon was a close to being a doddering grandfather, but Euron didn’t even look a day older than Theon himself, and markedly younger than the Damphair. He blinked, his uncle was still talking. 

“Right. Of course you would, because you’ve been well brought up and you know how to behave. But what makes you know how to treat each of those people? How do you  _ know _ that it’s acceptable to flirt with this person and fine to jest with that one, but she should be spoken to gently and you must behave yourself with those others? How do you know the difference?”

“I… I… By how old they are?” Theon had no idea where this was going, if it was indeed going anywhere. Was his uncle as mad as the crueller gossipmongers suggested? 

Euron shook his head. “Not exactly. You know by how they behave towards  _ you _ . The way they hold themselves, the words they use, the direction their eyes flicker. Their behaviour gives you cues for how  _ you _ should treat them. Do you see?” Theon was silent. Euron sighed. “My point is… Well, look. The transition from girl to maiden, what happens? What signals that change?” He beckoned for a response with a hurried hand.

“The flowering…?” Theon hazarded.

“Yes! And the signal for the change from maiden to woman is when she is no longer a virgin, yes?” Euron was becoming more animated as he warmed to his theme. 

Humouring him, Theon nodded. “I suppose…”

“Good. So those physical changes turn her into a new stage of maturity. And yes, those tend to happen at certain vague ages, so age is a fairly good guide. But! What is it that signals the change from woman to wife?” He held up a questioning finger, like a maester during a lecture. 

Theon shook his head slowly, this was utterly pointless. He could be sleeping right now. Or drinking or fucking or doing anything else, but he was trapped in his damp room with a madman. “Um, the wedding?”

“Yes!” Euron clapped his hands together. “But how does a  _ wedding _ change the woman? How does saying some words to someone change her into a different person? What physical difference is there between a woman on the morning of her wedding day and a wife in the evening of her wedding day?” Euron was gesturing broadly, making Theon have to lean back to avoid being hit by a flailing arm. 

“...the bedding?” Perhaps this monologue was going to be The Talk, after all...

“No, no,  _ no _ !” Euron snapped. “She’s not a highborn virgin maiden being sold like a brood mare for her bloodline, she’s a woman taking a man to be her husband. She’s already fucked him, that’s happened. So what physical change is there for her when she becomes a wife?”

Defeated, Theon shook his head. “I can’t think of anything.” 

“ _ Yes! _ ” Euron jumped to his feet, punching the air. His chair tipped over backwards with a clatter. “Yes!  _ Exactly _ , my boy! There is no fucking difference.” He righted the chair and sat down again, eye flashing with enthusiasm. “She is precisely the same person at the end of the day that she was at the beginning! And  _ yet _ , she is now a wedded wife, and men will treat her more respectfully than they did when she was a woman who could be had by anyone she chose.”

“But… how…?” Theon rubbed at his nose, wondering if perhaps the drink in the flask had been something other than just strong spirits. 

“The difference is in the  _ ceremony _ . And in the way that she, having had the ceremony, now holds herself differently, has a new bearing, new body language, new expressions, new turns of phrase. One pointless little exchange of words and a kiss and her whole being matures into ‘wife’, because now she  _ knows _ that she is a wife, and so she  _ behaves _ like a wife, and so people  _ treat _ her like a wife.”

“Okay.” Theon nodded. “I think I understand. But, un-- But, Euron?”

“Hmmn?” Euron was sipping from his hip flask, savouring the heat spreading from his throat.  

“What the fuck does this have to do with me being laughed at by half of Pyke?”

Euron laughed and clapped Theon on the shoulder. “A fair question. Yes. So. I was trying to explain that wives have a different bearing than women, who have a different bearing from maidens, yes?”   
  


“Yes, yes, yes,” Theon nodded, not wanting to get into all of that again. 

“So. The same is true for men. You can spot the greenboy amongst his wenching friends, just by the way he behaves, particularly around women. And  _ you _ , my boy, do not have the bearing of a mature Ironborn Man, and so Ironborn men - and women - will treat you like the child they see you as.” Euron sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the bed, folding his arms. 

Theon was silent, staring into the fire. When he spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “I am  _ not _ a greenboy.” Just what did he have to do to get this through to people? Fuck a whore in the middle of the great hall?

A hearty chuckle. “Oh, son… You may have fucked someone - or more,” he added, holding up his hands to still Theon’s protest, “but you are as green as the land you were raised on and everyone can fucking  _ see _ it.”

Theon punched the mattress next to him. “I am  _ not _ ! I’ve fucked hundreds of women! I fucked the captain’s daughter on the way over here and she’s still mooning about the ship utterly in love with me! I’ve… I’ve had to see the maester because I fucked so much my cock got friction sores! And I’ve--” he was interrupted by Euron’s manic burst of laughter. 

“Did you really just try to use getting cock rot as an example of how mature you are? You silly little boy!” He giggled into his hands in a disconcertingly childish way. 

Theon glared at him. “Fuck you! I did not get cock rot, it just got a bit chafed from all the fucking I did that weekend.”

Euron shook his head, “Oh, Theon, son, this is what I’m talking about. If you were a Man, you’d be able to get ‘em wet enough to not have to think about friction.”

“I know how to get a woman wet, uncle Euron!” Theon almost stamped his foot in frustration. 

“It’s not about your sexual prowess, Theon!” Euron roared at him, standing to loom over him. In the dim light of the room he suddenly seemed very large. “Or your fighting skills, or your drinking skills, or anything else you can measure so easily! Didn’t you listen to anything I was trying to tell you earlier? What changes a woman into a wife?” He snapped his fingers in front of Theon’s face. “Come on, fucking tell me. What changes a woman into a wife?”

“The wedding ceremony,” Theon muttered sulkily. 

“Exactly. And  _ you _ , boy, have not had the Man ceremony. And until you do, you’ll always behave like a child and therefore everyone will  _ treat _ you like a child.” Euron sat again and took a swig from his flask. “Worse, at the age you are, people will start to think that you’re…” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly. 

“They’ll think I’m what?  _ What? _ ” Cold gripped Theon’s guts. 

Euron grimaced. “Delayed.  _ Wrong _ , somehow. Not a man. Backward, or, or…  _ lacking _ .” He looked away, clicking his tongue sympathetically. 

Theon’s face burned. It made sense. It fucking made sense. Here he was, a man grown, and everyone around him still treated him as if he was a good five years younger, ignoring his ideas, telling him what to do, fussing over him or ‘keeping an eye’ like he was a fucking toddler. Robb, barely turned sixteen was heading a whole fucking army and being hailed as King, and Theon, older, more experienced, more  _ royal, _ was being sent to play message-boy for him. And Balon was doing the exact same thing with his fucking “eight longships to harry the coast” bullshit. They thought he couldn’t handle anything more taxing. They were giving him baby tasks to keep him happy. Humour the overgrown manchild. Placate the moron.

He bit his lip. What had Euron said? There ceremony happened at fifteen? And here he was in his fucking twenties, being laughed at by the whole world as he bumbled about in utter ignorance of how much Balon was denying him. He should have fucking known. Balon had never even bothered to have him drowned. Didn’t think him worth the salt water. No, he’d just had a little blessing on the pebble beach shore, while all his siblings had been pushed under the water and offered to the Drowned God properly. He’d been told that his blessing was enough, but he knew deep down that it diminished him in the eyes of his countrymen. And now, again, here he discovered another ritual Balon was withholding from him, another way his father was displaying his outright contempt for his only son and heir. It wasn’t  _ fair _ . He clenched his fists

“Why have I never heard of a fucking ‘Man ceremony’!” he growled accusingly, as if it were somehow his estranged uncle’s fault all this had been kept from him all his life.

Euron shrugged. “Why would you?  It’s for men who reach maturity and you were sent away to live with the greenlanders when you were still a babe.”

Theon huffed. “I was  _ ten _ .” Somehow, this was very important. 

Euron dismissed his correction. “Whatever. You were too young to know of it at the time. And you’ve been amongst strangers ever since. It’s an Iron Islands thing. Perhaps the mainlanders have their own version, I don’t know. They do in Essos, but the boys are a little older there. Maybe iron and salt makes our men grow up faster.” He raised his chin with a prideful smile.

“Can you do it?” Theon asked, hope blooming in his chest. 

Euron shook his head slowly. “I  _ could _ , technically. But… it’s socially and politically very...  _ inappropriate _ .  A man’s father should declare him a Man. Or whoever brought the boy up and raised him to be a Man. If I was to do it, it would be saying that I’m more of a father to you than Balon is. These things generally don’t go down well. It’s disrespectful, and usually leads to spilled blood. Same type of response as fucking a man’s wife.” He grinned, but it suddenly faltered. His face turned grave. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ what?” Theon asked, just knowing that it would be more bad news. 

Euron suddenly gripped him by the shoulders. “Are you  _ certain _ Balon’s never touched you?” He grimaced. “I mean… he’s never,  _ touched _ you?  _ Intimately _ ?” A tilt of the head and an eyeroll down to crotch level made his meaning starkly clear. 

Theon recoiled, horrified. “Of course fucking not! What the  _ fuck _ , Euron!”

Euron released him and sank down to sit on the bed. “Oh, you poor, poor fuck.”

“What?” Theon asked, but got no response. He shook Euron hard by the shoulder and dropped to his knees to look up at his face. “What is it?”

Euron took his hand. “You won’t have, you haven’t… The Greyjoy blessing. Balon won’t have given you the Greyjoy gift. Oh, Theon, I’m so sorry.” He squeezed Theon’s hand. There might even have been a hint of a tear. 

Theon swallowed. “What the fuck is the Greyjoy gift, Euron?” He kept his voice low and calm. He was in control. Whatever it was, he would get though it, somehow. He was in control. He let out a long breath. 

“It’s our… our charisma, our glamour, our strength and prowess and… it’s what makes us fucking  _ Greyjoys _ , Theon!” Euron gripped his wrist and shook it. “Think about it. How did Balon, a grubby little man living on a rock, convince all of the Iron Islands that we could overthrow the Iron throne? And that  _ he _ , of all people, should be King? It certainly wasn’t his phenomenal skill in battle, was it? No, it was his  _ appeal _ . The Greyjoy glamour. It’s a blood gift, given to us by the Drowned God. Passed down from father to sons. Our sovereignty, our strength and our seed.”

“Sovereignty, strength and seed?” Theon scoffed, sitting back on his heels. “Oh come on…”

Euron flashed him a filthy grin. “Do you think you four are the only offspring Balon’s sired? And look at me, I have dozens of bastards all over the world. Probably hundreds of the fuckers. Your grandfather had nine legitimate and about twenty illegitimate, that I know of. Our seed is very strong. Not to mention… other physical improvements.” He gestured at himself and winked. 

Theon snorted skeptically. “I’ve never had any complaints in that department, uncle. And I don’t see Aeron or Victarion fathering any children, on either side of the sheets.”

“Ah. well... “ Euron shifted uncomfortably. “That might be my fault…” Theon raised an eyebrow and Euron rubbed at his nose. “I didn’t realise the gravity of the situation, and um… well. After my father performed the ceremony with me, I attempted to do the same with my brothers. But as I’m not their father, it didn’t work. Perhaps they were too young, not ready for it. And… well, anyway, when it came to be their turn, it didn’t work then, either. I suspect it might be because I had already tried it.” He sighed. “These magics are not to be underestimated.”

“Do you really believe this?” Theon barked a half-laugh which died in his throat as Euron turned the full force of his terrifying glare upon him. How could that one eye could be quite so unnerving? He coughed. “I mean… blood magic, passing down a blessing or a hex or whatever. You have to admit it sounds… Fuck!” He let out an embarrassing squeal as Euron grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shook him viciously, teeth bared. The flickering of the firelight made him seem impossibly large and Theon was suddenly certain that he’d be killed, right here, right now. He hung limply from his uncle’s grip, too terrified to move.

“Look, you little shit. I don’t give a fuck whether you believe it or not.  _ I _ know it to be real, your father knows it to be real, and if you’re going to sit on your pretty little arse and snigger at me when I’m trying to help you, you can kiss goodbye to any chance of earning any respect from your countrymen - or any fucking one else, for that matter. One more smart remark like that and you can sit here and snivel in the dark like the pathetic little boy you know you are. Understand?”

Weakly, Theon managed a nod, turning his face away from that incensed gaze. Euron dropped him contemptuously to the floor and whirled away. 

Fuck!” He began to pace the room, one hand tugging at his wild hair. “I have no fucking idea what is going through Balon’s head to let you get so old without doing it. If you were my son, I’d have been in your room at Winterfell on your fifteenth birthday and it would have been done at the proper time; but even if he was so cowed by the Starks that he was too afraid to go to you, he should have done it the first night you were back. What is he  _ thinking _ ? You’re his blood! Letting you walk around Pyke like this is an embarrassment! Not just to you, son, but to him, too! Why would he publically leave his own flesh to be so immature? Why would he keep the Greyjoy  legacy from you? He can’t pass it to Asha. It makes no sense.”

Theon felt cold. “He’s not going to do it,” he said quietly, pushing himself up to sit cross-legged. 

“What?” Euron was suddenly very still. 

“He’s not going to do it. He’s going to leave me as a child forever. He hates me. He won’t do it.” The obviousness of it all settled heavily onto Theon’s shoulders like a sodden fur cloak. “He doesn’t think I’m worth it. He doesn’t want to admit I’m anything to do with him.”

Euron clicked his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous, son. He might be a bit… distant, but he wouldn’t purposefully ruin your life like that. How would it benefit him to… to… Well. How would it benefit him?”

A short hopeless laugh. “He wouldn’t have to see me standing at his right hand as his heir. He would rather hand everything to… to Asha, than see me inherit. He thinks I’m a failure. He always has.”  He sniffed, knuckling at his eyes in an attempt to hold back the hot, heavy tears that were brimming. “Fuck.”

“Hey. Hey now, son…” Euron’s voice was a syrup of gentleness and comfort as he knelt on the floor behind Theon and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “Come here, boy.” He eased Theon back to lean against his chest, so solid, so strong. He couldn’t remember ever being hugged by a man before. Ned Stark never had, and his father… The thought made him cry harder. Euron stroked his hair. “Just let it out, son. Just let it go. You’re safe. I’ll look after you.”

Theon clutched the arm around his chest and sobbed; years of hurt and jealousy and injustice pouring out in the damp darkness of the cavernous room. And through it all, Euron held him, whispering soothing nothings and wiping his tears away, heedless of the snot that dripped onto his shirtsleeves. Until eventually, exhausted, Theon was spent. 

He lay in the safety of Euron’s arms and watched the glowing embers of the fire, numb after the tsunami of emotion that had ripped through him. Euron was silent, offering nothing but his closeness and love.  Theon pursed his lips. “Tell me more about this Man ceremony,” he said. “Just so I can get a better idea.”

Euron smiled. 


	2. Chapter 2

Theon sat self-consciously on a hard wooden chair in the middle of his dank room in the Bloody Tower. Despite the perpetual chill, his skin felt hot and clammy and he was trying hard not to squirm with embarrassment as Euron walked slowly around him. The whole thing would have been a lot more comfortable had he not been wearing only half a bedsheet wrapped around his waist. 

Euron stood behind him hand placed a hand heavily on his shoulder. “Theon, my son. I’ve woken you tonight because you have grown and you have matured and now I believe you to be ready to take on the full rights and responsibilities of an Ironborn Man.” Theon was glad that Euron was behind him and couldn’t see the roll of his eyes that he hadn’t been able to suppress. He had never had much patience for religious or ritual bullshit. 

“To prove your readiness you will demonstrate your worthiness with four tasks. The same four tasks that I performed for your grandfather, and he for his father and so on and on, back and back as long as there have been men on these Iron Islands,” Euron intoned, “It is time to release you from the soft days of your childhood and send you out into the world as an adult: strong, brave, healthy, and fruitful.”

Euron handed him the end of a piece of string and started to circle him, winding the string around his upper body, trapping his arms to his chest. “Your first task, Theon, will demonstrate your strength. A Man should be strong, not only in his body but also in his mind, in his heart and in his history. Your history is of the Iron Islands and so I bind you seven times.” He stood in front of Theon and with one finger touched each of the loops of string around his chest. “Harlaw, Blacktyde, Orkmont, Saltcliffe, Old Wyk, Great Wyk and your home and birthplace, Pyke.”

Theon grimaced a little at that last; Pkye may be his birthplace, but it certainly didn’t feel like home. 

“As a Man grown, you will break free of the bonds of the Iron Islands, ready to go forth to raid other lands, taking their plunder and bounty for yourself.” Euron clapped him lightly on the shoulders. “Free yourself, son.”

Taking a deep breath, Theon flexed his arms and pushed against the string bindings. He blinked a little in surprise when they didn’t instantly snap. The string was stronger than he’d thought. Euron cocked his head, just beginning to frown. Fuck, no, Theon couldn’t fail to do this. Not when he’d begged Euron to do this; to do the ceremony and declare himself Theon’s true father - by deed if not by seed. Not when he was already so much older than most men who did this. He  _ had _ to prove himself worthy. He exhaled and strained against the string, almost crying out in relief when the first one snapped, followed quickly by the others. 

The broken coils fell uselessly to the floor and he looked up at Euron, who smiled at him, filling Theon with pride and gratitude. He’d done it. One task down. “Father, I free myself from the bonds of my birthplace,” he muttered, feeling a little awkward at the words. 

“And you have proved your Man’s strength,” Euron confirmed, and moved to stand at his right. “Theon, your second task will demonstrate your bravery. A Man must be able to face discomfort and danger and show that he will not yield, but that he will stand firm, even through fear and pain.” A flourish of his wrist and he was holding a dagger, the edge gleaming with wicked sharpness.  Theon’s eyes widened in alarm. Euron chuckled at him, not entirely kindly.

“Did you think becoming a Man would be easy, son?” He twirled the knife around expert fingers. “Don’t you trust me? I’m your father, remember? I’ll always look after you.”

Nervously, Theon nodded his head. “No, Eur-- No, father. I trust you.” He lifted his chin and looked Euron -  _ his father _ \- in the eyes. “I’m your son.”

Euron smiled at that, a slow, broad, almost triumphant smile and he squeezed Theon’s shoulder. “That’s right, boy. You’re  _ mine _ .” He raised his head and twirled the dagger again. “Theon, I’m going to cut you with the marks of the land and the sea. Will you face this pain bravely and stoically, no matter the hurt?”

A swallow and nervous lick of the lips. “I will, father,” Theon replied. 

The two slashes were so fast Theon had barely realised they were happening by the time they were over. He swallowed the yelp and instead hissed quietly through his teeth. He looked down at his chest, where a straight line had been sliced above a curved line, right over his heart. The land and the sea. Together, they almost looked like the outline of a longboat. The pain seared through him, soaring up to a crescendo and sustain. Theon snatched a breath. Beads of blood blossomed along the edges of the cuts, growing and joining until one and then a second spilled over and began to trail blood down his chest. Euron’s eyes gleamed. Theon let out a long exhale. “Did… Did I pass? Father?”

“Oh you passed…” Euron murmured, still staring intently at the blood rolling down Theon’s pale skin. He pressed his hand to Theon’s chest, just over his nipple, and swiped his thumb through the dripping blood, smearing it onto his first two fingers. “Flesh of my flesh,” he muttered, opening and closing his fingers, feeling the stickiness of the rapidly-forming clots. “Blood of my blood.” 

Suddenly, his fingers were mashed against Theon’s lips, worming their way between his teeth, crawling over his tongue. Theon cried out, his mouth falling open in surprise. He tasted iron and salt and the sticky residue from liquor. A hand grabbed him by the hair at the back of his head and the fingers were pulled from his mouth, leaving a slimy trail of blood and saliva over his lip and chin. 

Shocked, Theon stared up at Euron, who still had him by the hair. Euron lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked on his fingers, cleaning them of Theon’s spit and blood with apparent relish. Catching sight of Theon’s horrified face, Euron let go of him and shuffled a little, slightly abashed. “Sorry, lad. That’s an old blood binding. I took the opportunity. As I’m going to be your father, and all…” He coughed. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s… alright…” Theon muttered, feeling more than a little violated. He changed the subject. “Did I pass the task?” 

“Hmmn?” Puzzlement clouded Euron’s eye for a moment and then he nodded quickly. “Oh! Yes, yes you passed wonderfully, son.” He glanced around himself for a moment, and then picked up the bloodied dagger from the bed where he must have tossed it. “And thus you have proven your Man’s bravery. And I present you with the blade that bears your blood. May it be the last to do so.” He twirled the knife and handed it to Theon, hilt-first. 

Theon took it and declared with some relief, “Father, I faced fear and pain without flinching. ” Then, with nowhere to put it, tossed the blade back onto the bed. 

“And so you have proven your bravery.” Euron walked around Theon to stand at his left. “Your third task, Theon, will demonstrate your health. A Man should be whole, hale and hearty. He should be well muscled, fast and flexible. He should be free from disease and deformity, unless obtained during battle. Son, you must submit to an examination to show your father that you are healthy and fit to carry his name forward. 

“I have to what?” Theon gripped his sheet in his hands. Somehow it didn’t seem so flimsy any more. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just a ritual.” Euron smiled reassuringly at him. Theon did not feel reassured. “Stand here.” Euron guided him to stand in the middle of the room with his arms at his sides. He stepped back and looked Theon theatrically up and down. “You’ve grown well, son.” He touched the top of Theon’s head, comparing their heights. His fingers ran through Theon’s hair, stroking at his scalp. He started to walk around him, looking carefully behind his ears and brushing the back of his hand over the soft stubble on Theon’s chin.

He tapped Theon’s lower lip. “Open up, let me see your teeth,” and Theon obediently opened his mouth, trying not to remember the feeling of his unc-- his  _ father’s  _ fingers forcing their way in just a few minutes before. This time, Euron just looked into his mouth, presumably checking for missing or rotten teeth. He gently held open each of Theon’s eyes and covered them in turn, watching how his pupils responded. Theon stood very still and stiff, trying not to breathe. Having Euron so close to his face was disconcerting. He smelled slightly of cardamom and spirits, and his body radiated heat. Theon was acutely aware of his state of undress. 

His father continued to walk around him, trailing gentle fingers down the knobs of his spine and feeling the length and muscle of his arms, carefully probing to find and study his pulse.. He spent a long time examining Theon’s hands, inspecting each finger and how they moved individually and as a unit. He nodded approvingly at the sword-grip and bow-string calluses he’d developed, and Theon felt a hot rush of pride flow through his body. 

Euron stood at his right with one hand on the middle of his back and the other resting at the top of his belly. “Deep breath…” he murmured and Theon dragged in a huge lungful of air, swelling his chest as much as he could. “...and out…” He sighed deeply, letting it all go and then pushing and pushing until his stomach was concave and he had nothing left. His father nodded and suddenly whipped Theon’s bedsheet away, leaving him naked. 

Blushing deep red, Theon covered himself with his hands, bending his legs and hunching over in embarrassment. His father firmly batted his arms back to his sides. “None of that. A Man is not ashamed of the body his father gave him. A Man stands stoic and calm and confident in himself. Stand up.” He flicked Theon under the chin to make him raise his head, and pushed his shoulders back. 

Theon dragged a steadying breath and stood tall, letting his arms fall once again to his sides. His fingers twitched with the urge to hide himself, but he fought the urge. He stared straight ahead and concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and steady. He flinched as his father’s hands touched him again, palpating firmly at his belly as if he were a pup being checked for worms. The hot fingers went to his hips, kneading out the outline of his hip bones, and then Euron dropped to a squat to examine his legs. His face was directly next to Theon’s crotch. Theon’s face burned; but he was a Man. He held still. 

There was a scraping of wood on stone and his father pulled the chair over, tugging at Theon’s ankle. Theon dutifully lifted his foot to the seat of the chair and let ankles, feet and toes be inspected, obediently changing legs at a gentle tap on the thigh. And then the part he had dreaded. His father stood and held him steady with a warm hand on his shoulder. “This will only take a moment, son,” he murmured, with his face far too close to Theon’s ear. 

Theon stood with one foot up on the chair and stared at the darkness of the ceiling while his father slid a hand down the flat plane of his belly and grasped at his cock. When contact was made, he swayed a little, his body was so tense with the effort of not jumping away. His father stepped closer to support his balance, letting Theon lean against the solidity of his body. “Good boy, such a good boy… Just a moment more…” he whispered against Theon’s neck as his fingers measured out the length and girth of Theon’s cock, and pulled back at his foreskin. His father leaned sideways to glance down at what he was doing, to make sure all was… in order. And then he straightened up, gave him a brief squeeze and released him, only to reach down to cup at Theon’s balls, rolling them gently between his fingers, hefting their weight. Theon squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Well done, son. Just one last…” Euron gave him an apologetic smile and stepped away for a moment. There was a clink of glass and then he was back at his side, wrapping one arm across Theon’s chest to grip his other shoulder. “Just lean very slightly…” he muttered, pulling Theon forwards. There was nothing and then there was slippery hot pain and invasion as his father grabbed his left buttock and shoved a finger up into his arsehole. 

Theon yelped in shock and would have fallen in his attempt to pull away had Father not been holding him tightly in place. He still managed to topple the chair with a loud clatter. The finger was gone as quickly as it had been inserted and Euron was patting his shoulder, apologising and soothing him. His oil-streaked hand squeezed at Theon’s arse with a grip that was probably meant to be comforting, but just added to his confusion. 

“Well done, lad. You’re as well-built and hale as any father could wish for.” Euron stepped away, taking the heat of his body with him and leaving Theon standing naked and chilled in the gloom of his bedroom. There was a pause. “Say the words, son,” Euron prompted. 

Dazedly, Theon groped through his memory for what to say. “I’ve.. um. I’ve shown myself to be whole and disease-free, father.” He mumbled. The words weren’t quite right, but they were close enough. His lip quivered. He felt like he was going to cry, but that was ridiculous - there was nothing wrong. He should be happy. Everything was going smoothly. Euron was being kind and supportive and was  _ proud _ of him. He dreaded to imagine what his actual father would have been like, had he deigned to perform this ceremony. He quickly wiped away a tear before it fell. Stupid. 

“And you have proved your Man's health,” Euron declared, formally. “May you keep it to the end of your days.” He took a deep breath and stepped ponderously to stand directly behind Theon. “Your final task, son, will demonstrate your fruitfulness. A Man is no man at all if he cannot father sons of his own on his women. You must prove to me, your  _ father _ ,” and here he clasped Theon's upper arm, “that you are able to continue my line and pass down my flesh and my blood, as my father passed to me and his to him and so on, back and back for all the years there have been men on these Iron Islands.”

As he spoke, Euron arranged Theon's arms, the left behind, lying across the small of his back and the right forward, across his belly. Euron reached around Theon's body with his left hand and gripped his wrist in a sailor's clasp, Theon automatically holding his father's wrist in response. Some part of him registered that this really was the closest he’d ever got to holding his father’s hand in his whole life. The rest flared with alarm at how neatly he’d been restrained. The arm behind his back was now trapped between their bodies. He tried to subtly pull it free but Father hugged him tighter to his chest. At the same time, his right hand, dripping in oil, snaked around and down to take a gentle but firm grasp of Theon's cock. Theon trembled, his traitorous, pathetic legs starting to shake. He sucked in a deep breath and stared at the wall in front of him. 

“Just one last challenge, lad, and you'll be the Man you were always meant to be,” Euron murmured into his ear, his hand twisting and stroking around the limpness that was Theon's pride and joy. “You'll be confident and strong, a leader of men. A leader of women too, if you catch my drift.” Theon could hear the leer in his father's voice. “They'll be lining up for you to fuck them, each with more of their tits hanging out than the last,” he smirked.

Silently, Theon let himself be handled, his body more tense and stiff than it had ever been before - the complete opposite of his cock. His father kept on pumping at the soft flesh, but nothing was happening. Theon wanted to die. The one time in his life he really  _ needed _ his cock to perform and it was betraying him. With a stifled cough, Euron shuffled slightly and leaned to crane his neck over Theon’s shoulder and have a look. He clicked his tongue. “Do you, uh, often have a spot of trouble, lad?” he asked in a voice so sympathetic and understanding that Theon  _ hated _ him for it. It would have been easier to have been laughed at. 

“This has never happened before,” he managed to choke out, albeit with a humiliating crack in his voice. Fuck, how could this be happening? He looked down at the loose flesh in his father’s hand and  _ willed _ it to harden, to just get stiff and come and then all of the nightmare that had been his entire adult life could be over. For fuck’s sake, the damn thing had dominated nearly every aspect of his life for the last half dozen years and now,  _ now _ , the one time he really needed it to step up and perform, it turned into a shrivelled hermit. A huge bubble of despair rose from the pit of his stomach and burst into a thousand shards of shame in his head. For the third time today, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

“Of course it hasn’t,” his father agreed, tolerantly, increasing his pace a bit. 

“The hands wanking me off are usually much smaller and more delicate-” Theon started to explain, but his father shushed him. 

“It’s okay son, just relax.” Euron released his prick and without breaking his hold on Theon’s wrist, walked them both to the bed where he sat and pulled him into his lap. “Sit with me and relax. Lean back, son. Good boy.” Another clink of glass against glass and his father’s hand was back on his prick, freshly slick with oil and touching him with a grip so light it could hardly be felt - quite unlike the way Theon usually handled himself. He rested against his father’s chest and marvelled at the strong arms that encircled him; he hadn’t felt this secure since he was about six years old. He physically winced at that thought and hastily turned his mind away from those directions. 

“Easy now, son… Just breathe, just relax…” His father’s voice was soft and soothing, murmuring in his ear; his breath making Theon’s hair tickle the skin of his neck. “Imagine how it’ll be when you’re a full Ironborn Man, leading a fleet of warships into a raid on some plump little greenlander village. All those soft, docile women, just ripe and ready for the taking. You’ll have your pick of the lot of them, your fighters rounding them up and setting them out in a line for you to inspect and take your pick of the whole lot. Most of them will have their tits out already by then, but those who haven’t been put on display for you, you can rip their bodices open and watch their fat creamy tits spill out for your pleasure. And you’ll walk down the line and eye them all up, touch them up if you want, and make your choice. Or choices. All for you. Ahhhh…  _ There _ it is.” He nodded in satisfaction because Theon’s prick had finally -  _ finally _ \- begun to respond. 

“You like that thought, son? A whole line of womanflesh on show and waiting for you?” His father held him slightly more firmly but still teasingly softly. “Who would you choose? The blushing maiden? The unwed but clearly not-unfucked woman? The new mother with milky teats? The one sobbing and afraid? The one who looks you in the eye and promises to make you remember her, even if you kill her tonight? Who would you choose? Tell me, son. Which one?”

Eyes shut, Theon saw the line of women, sees himself walking down the line, looking at each one, through their tears and wounds and dirt, to the woman under the raider’s work, making his selection. He could always have them bathed and redressed.  _ Cold and afraid and standing in line, not wanting to be chosen, but terrified of being left to be used by the crew. _ Ros, his favourite whore from Winterfell was in the line, tits proudly out and making no effort to hide them. She met his gaze with a raised chin and he knew he’d choose her - but he can hardly tell his father that out of all the women brought here for him, he’d pick a whore from home. He hastily blurted out something else. “She’s solidly built. With curly black hair and dark, reproachful eyes. And pouty lips that’ll look fantastic wrapped around my cock,” he replied. Father chuckled. 

“Good choice, son. So take her back to your ship. You can have her. Have her any way you want. Get her to suck your prick while her mother watches. Fuck her over your captain’s table with the whole crew cheering you on. Have her mouth, her cunt, her arse, her tits. Just take it. You’re fucking Ironborn; it’s all yours. She was born for you to fuck her today. That’s why she exists. That’s what the Gods planned.”  _ Existing only to be fucked. _ A small breath of a moan escaped from him and his father grunted approvingly, picking up the pace a little more. Theon was half hard and sweating wherever his skin met his father’s so they were sticking together, flesh against clammy flesh. 

“What do you want to do with her, son? How do you want to have her?” Hushed and urgent, his father whispered in his ear, fluttering his fingers up the underside of his cock.Theon squirmed, trying to stop himself from rocking his cock further into Father’s grip. He wasn’t some green boy desperate for any contact with his prick, he was a Man and he had some fucking self control. Euron pulled his foreskin back and flicked his thumb over the very tip of his cock. He thrust wildly into his hand and then hated himself for it. Euron was still talking. “Tell me, lad. Tell me what you want to do with your woman. Your prize.”

Theon had to consciously wet his mouth to speak; he’d been panting slightly and his tongue had dried up. He coughed. “I, I want her naked.” He wanted to add something else, something more, but it was getting hard to think. 

Another tolerant chuckle. Another slight increase in grip and pace. “That’s a good start, son. Get her naked and you can have her however you like. Grease her up with oil and you can stick your prick wherever you want. Once you’ve fucked her hard once, she’ll be begging you to have her again. She’ll want your cock morning, noon and night. You can leave her spread out in your room to have whenever you like and she’ll fucking thank you for-- Oh! You like that, then?”

Theon’s body had jerked and his cock was fully hard now.  _ Greased up and spread out to be fucked. _ He clung to his father’s wrist and bit his lip while his cock was stroked with firm  confidence. None of the whores he’d been with had felt like this.

“Bend her over a table and spread her open. Tie her ankles to the table legs and  _ Grease. Her. Up _ . So that she’s ready to be fucked at any time. Oh  _ yes _ , good boy.  _ Good boy. _ ” Father was pleased with him, pleased with the way his cock had twitched in his hand.  _ Good boy, Theon. _ Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, running down his neck. 

“Once you’re finished with her, you can let your crew in to have a go on her while you start on the next one - no point in wasting good cunt.” Theon cried out wordlessly, his head swimming. Fuck, he wanted to come. “Which bit of that did you like, son? Talk to me.” Father was jerking his cock properly now, his hand so slick with oil and Theon’s own fluid. The squishing sounds were obscenely loud in the darkness and stillness of the night but at this moment, Then didn’t care at all. “Was it the crew, or moving on to the next one?” 

“The crew!” Theon panted out. And a second later, fear gripped him. Was that wrong? Was it wrong to want to see your crew fuck the whore you just had?  _ Tied down, spread open for anyone to use. For  _ _ everyone _ _ to use _ . He groaned again and his father squeezed at his cock. 

“Oh that’s right, boy. You’ll be a fine captain. Share your plunder with your crew and they’ll follow you anywhere. Just make sure you keep order. A patient queue of men waiting their turn. No more than one in her mouth and one in her cunt or her arse at a time. If they damage her before everyone’s had some, there’ll be upset.” The squeak that escaped Theon’s throat was anything but Manly, but Father didn’t seem to mind. He only hugged him tighter and carried on with the firm, fast, stroking of his cock.

_ Fucked by two men, knowing there’s a line of more of them waiting their turn. _ Theon felt dizzy. His mouth was bone dry and his breathing was coming in staggered pants. His nails were digging deep crescents into his father’s wrist and sweat was dripping down his body. His left arm, trapped behind his back, was almost numb from lack of movement and being squeezed so tightly against his father’s body. He really didn’t care. 

“How about the arse, son? Do you want that? Want a huge, hard, Ironborn cock in that tight arsehole?” Father clutched him close, hissing insistently into his ear. Theon’s body shook. 

“ _ Fuck _ ! Yes! Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ …” he gasped out, nodding his head, frantically. He was so  _ hard _ , so desperate. Being tossed off had never, ever, been this good. 

Father altered his grip slightly and now his fingertips were stroking right over the underside of Theon’s cock, exactly where it felt the most intense. Theon whined, rocking his hips with an urgency he’d have laughed at in a whore. His father put his lips right behind his ear and whispered, almost too quietly to hear. “You want an Ironborn cock in your pretty little arse, lad?”

“Yes!  _ Fuck!  _ Shit! Yes.” Theon had lost all eloquence, reduced to single-word sentences and swearing.

His father shifted position under him, making him sink further between his thighs. “Tell me, son. Say it, for me.”

“Cock in my arse,” Theon grunted, trying to shift his hips back to that fantastic angle he’d had a moment ago. Father adjusted his hold and the incredible pleasure was back. Theon moaned, winced at how loud that had been, and moaned louder when his father flicked his thumb against his cockhole. He told himself that he was only doing this because it was part of the centuries-old Man Ceremony of the Iron Islands. He was the next link in an unbroken chain of his bloodline; everyone had done it. Some tiny part of him argued that this was utterly utterly wrong and depraved and he should fight his way free and get out of there. The rest of him knew that if this was utterly utterly wrong and depraved, it didn’t matter because it was _ So. Fucking. Good _ .

“Your arse filled with Ironborn cock?” Father asked again.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Theon panted. He was so close. So incredibly  _ close _ to completing the ceremony and becoming a Man and then everyone would pay attention to him, give him the respect he deserved. He’d  _ belong _ . It didn’t matter how he got there, he just needed -  _ needed _ \- to come. 

“Spread open and fucked,” his father whispered. “Taking it hard and fast.” He shifted again, pulling Theon harder against him. “Have you done it? Have you had a cock in you, son?” Theon shook his head frantically, flinging drops of sweat everywhere. He’d had a whore’s fingers a time or two, and had experimented with his own , but had never done anything beyond adolescent games with another man. Father nodded against his shoulder, grunting a little with the effort of his fast pumping at Theon’s cock. “When I give you the Greyjoy gift, I’ll put my cock in you, like you want it.”

Theon let out a whine, thrusting his cock into Father’s hand and then suddenly reality caught up with him like a wave of icy seawater. He writhed to escape, but was held fast. “Wait, wait, wait, what?” he asked, with a note of panic. It was one thing to talk about crazy stuff in the midst of a fantasy wank, but quite another to propose actually  _ doing _ it. He squirmed, trying to escape Father’s grip on his cock but managed only to grind himself further onto a sinister hardness beneath him.

“Don’t you want the Gift, son? I can turn you into a man no one could resist. You could have any woman you want - or man - and have them screaming and begging for your prick. One fuck, one taste, just one  _ look _ at it and they’ll do anything you ask. Don’t you want your birthright?” Euron was still stroking at his cock and it was  _ perfect _ and Theon had been  _ so close _ to coming and he couldn’t get away anyway…  By all measures, he was already fucked. He’d gone this far, could he really live with himself if he didn’t see it through? Could he bear to spend the rest of his life knowing he was lacking something, a half-man, for the sake of one night of a little indignity?

He whimpered and shut his eyes, shaking his head - then slowly nodded. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. His body slumped as the tension poured out of him, all resistance gone. His father purred his satisfaction. “That’s right, lad. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it to you. You’ll truly be my son: a God amongst men.” Euron rocked his hips, pressing his cock against Theon’s backside. “Can you feel what you do to me, son? Imagine what you’ll do the the cunts of women you want to fuck. Imagine how hard you’ll get the men, once you’ve got the Gift. Do you want that? Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.” Theon repeated, starting to thrust himself again into his father’s hand. He gasped as Father did…  _ something _ . Something wonderful to his prick. “Fuck! I want it!”

“Gonna come for me, son?” Euron’s voice was a low growl that sent tremors down Theon’s spine.

“Yes. Yes yes yes yes,” he gasped between snatched breaths. He was going to come, he was going to come... Euron let go of his cock and left him feeling only cold, hideous emptiness. He let out a whine that was close to becoming a quiet scream of frustration. 

Father gripped his hip instead of his prick. “Ask me for it.”

“Please!” Theon didn’t hesitate. “Please, father!”

A low chuckle. “‘Please’ what? Tell me what you want, son.

Theon hissed out a breath, his hips rutting wildly, trying to find any kind of friction for his cock at all. “Please let me come. Please.”

“I’m not stopping you, lad,” Euron pointed out, still with his hand resting on Theon’s hip,  _ so close _ to his cock.

Another frustrated whine. “Please… Please touch me, I need it.”

“I am touching you, boy. Be specific. What. Do. You. Want?”

“Touch my cock! Please, father! Rub my cock and make me come!” Theon burst out, almost sobbing with want.  

“Ahhh… you only had to ask, son…” Father took hold of his aching prick again and gave it a light couple of strokes. “Like this?”

“Hnnnn…. More. More!” Sweat was dripping into Theon’s eyes, making them stream and mixing with the tears that had already been forming. “Ah! Yes, father! Please!” 

Euron upped his technique. “Don’t you fret, boy. Daddy will look after you.”

“Fuck!” Theon’s body twitched. He heard Father groan a sigh into his shoulder, felt the stiffness of his prick against his arse.

“You like that?” Euron jerked him harder. “You want daddy to look after you?”

Theon mewled, “Please, daddy!” 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ …” Now it was daddy’s turn to twitch and Theon was aware of a twisted sense of pride that he could make his father cry out in need too. Daddy was pumping hard at his cock, his fingers stroking over and over and over the sensitive underside where he liked it best. “ _ Good boy _ . You’re such a good boy. You’ll be my fucking  _ beautiful _ little boy, wrapped around daddy’s cock.

“Fuck! Please… Fuck me, daddy!” Theon no longer cared what he looked or sounded like, he was just desperate to spill. 

“Come for me, Theon. Come for daddy.” His father was rutting up against his arse, rocking them both. “Come for daddy and then he can fuck you.” Theon wailed. He was so fucking close. “Come for daddy, Theon.” Father whispered into his ear. “Daddy loves you.”

Theon came.


	3. Chapter 3

The first jet of his seed shot straight up into the air like he was some kind of fourteen year old greenboy seeing his first pair of tits. It spattered hotly on his hips and thigh. The second shot at an angle to splash onto his daddy’s leg. The rest pulsed urgently over daddy’s fingers and Theon threw his head back onto daddy’s shoulder, gasping for breath, his whole body shaking. 

“Fuck yes, good boy! You fucking  _ dirty _ little boy…” Daddy rocked him through his orgasm, thrusting his cock up against Theon’s. He lifted his hand and forced his fingers into Theon’s mouth. “Clean daddy up, little slut. Eat it all.” Dazed, Theon did as he was told, tasting sweat and bitterness that numbed his tongue. His limbs went lax. He was spent. He had nothing left. 

His father hitched his breath and rolled Theon off his lap and onto the musty-smelling bed, arranging his limbs to his liking. Theon was a rag-doll, letting daddy put him wherever he wanted. His father stroked his back and whispered into his ear but either he couldn’t hear him or he was too tired to process the words. He lay prone on knees and elbows, face resting on the back of his hands. A thought surfaced and he gathered his wits to form a sentence. 

“Did I pass?”

“What?” His daddy was busy. Busy tearing the bedsheet Theon had worn for his Man Ceremony into long strips. Maybe that was part of the ceremony. Destroy the last thing he’d worn as a child. It seemed apt. 

“Did I pass the task, daddy? Am I a Man now?” Theon watched him fill a goblet with wine and down it in three long swallows. Wine would be good now. His mouth was so dry. 

Father didn’t even pause what he was doing. “A man? You’re nothing but a filthy slut and daddy’s going to fuck you now. Going to fucking take your flower, my boy.” He crossed the room to kneel astride Theon’s thighs, pushing his belly down flat against the bed. “Clasp your hands.” He bound Theon’s wrists together, winding the fabric around and around. 

Theon wriggled face-down; trapped. “Daddy? What are you doing?” As the afterglow from his orgasm faded, his head began to clear and a growing sense of unease had sparked in the pit of his stomach.

“Keeping you in place.” The reply was terse and suddenly Theon’s thighs were spread by unstoppably strong hands. He gripped the bedding and tried to be as still as possible. 

He swallowed. “Is this the Greyjoy ceremony?” He flinched as hot, slick fingers pressed against his arsehole with no preamble at all. One pressed against the very centre of his hole, wiggling to try to work inside. He instinctively squeezed tight against it, his limbs pulling against Euron’s hold on him. There was a sharp smack across his backside that made him yell out. The invading finger forced its way in. 

“Fucking hell, you’re the tightest slut I’ve had,” his daddy muttered, working his finger in and out, getting oil inside him. Theon shifted his hips. It had been uncomfortable, but wasn’t too bad. He felt his father probing around inside him - then there was a sharp wave of pure pleasure, gone as fast as it had appeared. He gasped in surprise and daddy pulled his finger out, leaving him cold. He flexed his arsehole, feeling it tighten up again. There was a pause and then fingers again, this time two wriggling into him, he clenched his muscles around them. “Fuck, I’m going to fill your arse up with seed, boy.”

“And then I’ll have the Greyjoy gift?” Theon asked, feeling clammy now his sweat-soaked body was cooling. He clung to that thought. There had to be some reason this was happening to him. 

“I’ll give you a fucking gift, alright,” Euron grunted at him. He pulled his fingers out of Theon’s arse with an obscene slurping noise. There were some wet-sounding strokes and then Theon felt a new hot, slippery hardness press against his hole. “Push against it, boy. Push back.” 

Theon obeyed, bearing down against this new pressure. It was big. Much much bigger than the two fingers had been. He squirmed. This was far too much. There was no way it would ever fit. “Stop! Daddy, you’re hurting me!” 

“Good.” His father snapped. “Life fucking hurts. Get used to it.” He pushed forward with tiny little rocks of his hips, forcing his cock relentlessly in. His fingernails cut crescents into the skin of Theon's hips and thighs.

“No, uncle Euron, you’re really hurting me!” Theon tried to look over his shoulder. Tried to crawl away. Tried to signal somehow that he wasn’t play-acting any more. “Can’t we do this another time? Does the Man ceremony have to be the night you give the Gift?" He let out a wordless squeal and thrashed his legs wildly.

Euron grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back. “Are you really that fucking  _ dense _ ? There  _ is no _ fucking “Greyjoy Gift” you  _ stupid _ ,  _ pathetic, _ little,  _ fuck _ !” He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust of his hips and the head of his cock finally forced its way through Theon’s ring of muscle. “Fucking hell, those Starks turned you into a gullible  _ cunt _ . Shut the fuck up.” He wrenched Theon’s face round and stuffed a handful of torn-up sheet into his mouth, holding it in place by wrapping another length around his head.  Theon tried to fight, tried to scream out and call for help, but it was all far too little, far too late. Euron had him completely. 

His head was forced down into the mouldy bedding and Euron started to fuck him in earnest, heedless of the muffled cries of pain that he was causing. Theon let out a scream that was almost entirely swallowed by the mattress. He felt sick. He felt numb. There was no Greyjoy gift. Of  _ course _ there was no fucking Greyjoy gift. He’d known that, deep down. He’d known it was too good to be true. Euron’s cock pounded into him and to his horror, he realised that it was doing something inside him that his body was responding to. The discomfort was punctuated by coils of pleasure running through him and his own prick, so recently spent, was perking up again. Once again, he hated his traitorous body. He hated his stupid fucking gullibility. He hated his fucking sick family. _Sick. Sick. Sick_. He felt sick. He was struggling to breathe. The colour faded from his vision and the edges disappeared into blackness.

Sparks blazed in his head. His hair was being yanked back again as Euron grabbed him by the shoulder with his other hand and heaved him bodily upright. From far away, he could her him grunting. Talking to him. “Your arse is so fucking tight, boy. If you were just a hole, I’d swear you must be ten years younger. You’re not Ironborn. You’re not even a man, you’re fucking wasted as a man. You should have been a whore. They’d all be lining up to fuck you then, wouldn’t they? You’d fucking love that.” He wrapped an arm around Theon’s throat and reached down to give his cock a brief squeeze. “You disgusting _cunt_ , couldn’t even get a rise out of you until you were imagining yourself servicing a queue of Ironborn men. And you’re Balon’s last son, for fuck’s sake.” He spat into Theon’s hair. “You worthless  _ cunt _ . Your sister has twice the balls you have - and fucks twice as hard.”

Sharp fingernails digging into his hipbones, Euron was rutting hard into him and -  _ fuck _ \- he liked it, it felt good and it  _ shouldn’t  _ but it  did and he was so _disgusting_ , so twisted and broken. No wonder he’d always felt so wrong. He was sick. He was deranged. He should be dead. He should never have been born. His blood was tainted. His body was perverted. His cock was so fucking _hard_. 

Euron was relentless. “Balon was right not to have drowned you. The Drowned God would have taken one look at you and dragged every one of us to hell for sharing your filthy blood. You’re right. He never wanted you. He still doesn’t. You’re an _embarrassment_. You were always a mewling, squalling little shit of a baby. Everyone hated you. You never shut up. And even when you stopped crying, you never stopped whining. Always wanting what you shouldn’t have. Always jealous of everyone else. Following people around the keep begging for sweets like some Essos _gutterbrat_." He spat again, spattering Theon's face.

“When the Starks said they were going to take you as hostage, Balon couldn’t sign that fucking agreement fast enough. They could have you and do whatever the fuck they liked with you. I thought you’d get buggered by half of the North before you turned twelve, but of course not, the fucking  _ perfect Starks _ , with their fucking  _ honour _ let a slimy shit like you live amongst their children. But I bet  _ they _ all fucking hated you too. You needy little child, always after approval, always wanting people to tell you how well you’ve done. You’re fucking exhausting. Pathetic. Balon didn’t love you so you went mooning after Eddard Stark. He went and got himself killed so you latched onto his wet pup son. When are you ever going to learn, Theon?  _ People don’t fucking like you. _ It’s got nothing to do with what you do or don’t do. You’re just unlovable. Fundamentally loathsome.”

As Euron had been ranting, his fucking had got more and more frantic, until Theon was sure that his arse would never recover. His mind certainly wouldn’t. Oh yes, he’d known all these things about himself already, but to hear them spat at him like this, a wall of hatred battering him. His mind reeled. And through it all, his cock was rock hard again and he could feel the wetness leaking out of him and dripping down onto his thighs.   _ Sick _ . Sick in the head. Maybe he should die. Maybe Euron would kill him tonight. Maybe this would be his last night. Maybe this would be his last fuck. The fuck to end all fucks. Nothing could ever feel like this. 

Euron grunted as he leaned Theon forward a little, giving himself a more pleasurable angle to his arsehole. As he repositioned them both, his hand brushed over Theon’s twitching cock. He grabbed it and gave it a few taunting jerks. “You fucking  _ dirty _ freak! You’re going to spill again! I knew it. You love it. You fucking love it. I spent all that time coaxing you into it and I should have just bent you over and had you like the desperate whore you are. You're so fucking easy. Cheap slut. You want it so much.”

Theon shook his head violently, protesting vehemently, but uselessly through the gag in his mouth. Euron snorted. “Why are you saying no? Look at yourself. If you didn’t want me doing this, you’d have stopped me somehow. Instead you’re dripping hard and letting me fuck the shit out of you. You  _ want _ it. You  _ want  _ me fucking you. You want  _ Balon _ fucking you. Stop fucking screeching, boy. I know you want it; you shot your seed all over yourself the moment I said “daddy loves you”. Fuck, that was hilarious. You fucking pathetic _shit_. So desperate for daddy's attention you'll take anything that comes close. Is that what gets you off? When you’re lying with your whores, are you imagining it’s your daddy’s arms around you? Your daddy’s lips on your forehead? Do you moan out when you’re coming, ‘daddy, daddy, daddy, _daddy, daddy_ …’?” He descended into outright laughter. 

Theon came. 

It wasn’t anywhere near as dramatic as the first time, but he definitely came. His cock jerked and coughed up a few spurts of thin, watery seed onto the bedding and his body shook as the rolls of pleasure flooded through him. He moaned out into the gag, and started to cry. Again. His cock hadn’t even been touched. It leaked fluid down his thigh. Tears dripped down his cheeks. His  sobs mixed with Euron’s hysterical laughter and the room whirled into a nightmare of echoing madness. Euron swiped his hand though Theon’s seed and smeared it across his face. His eye burned and a glob of it began to roll down the side of his nose. He sucked in a breath and inhaled the end of the strip of cloth in his mouth. 

Immediately, he began to panic and choke - the sobs turning to desperate splutters. He flailed wildly again, frantic to get away. But Euron carried on fucking him for a good few beats before he noticed - and it took a couple more strokes before he deigned to clamber off him. He yanked off the binding from around Theon’s head and hauled an arms-length or more of soaked, slimy fabric out of his mouth. Theon dragged in a breath and collapsed to the bed, chest heaving, whole body wracked with sobbing. His heart pounded terribly in his ears. 

Euron stood over him, jerking his cock and watching him while the colour returned to his face. And then grabbed him by the hair again. “Suck on it.” He pushed Theon’s head down to his prick. “Go on,  _ ‘son _ ’. Suck on it.” And Theon, weak, dazed, confused, far too far gone to resist, just opened his mouth and let it happen. 

His uncle squeezed his cheeks together to force him to pout and slowly forced his cock into Theon’s mouth. “Suck on it.” He spat onto Theon’s face. “Suck some Ironborn cock, whore. Fuck, your mother was good at that. Do you take after her?” Theon gagged as he tasted his own shit and spit dripped from the corners of his mouth. He was going to be sick. Euron huffed his annoyance at Theon’s lack of action and so just took hold of his chin, wrenched his jaw open and started to fuck his face. 

Theon choked and gasped, his nose streaming with snot, saliva pouring down his chin. He pushed weakly at his uncle’s legs with his bound hands, but he was too feeble, too useless. In a few ghastly moments, Euron forced his cock all the way into Theon's mouth until he had a noseful of rough, acrid hair. Theon's eyes watered and Euron came, hard, in the back of his throat. 

He held Theon down while he took his pleasure, easily overcoming his flailing and struggles. “Fucking take it, cunt. Choke on it. Drown in my fucking seed.” Come was spurting into Theon’s airways. He couldn’t breathe.  _ He couldn’t breathe. _  Everything faded to grey again and he welcomed the numbness that sapped all feeling from his body.  

As Theon went limp, Euron hauled him off his cock, wiped it in his hair, and let him slide off the edge of the bed and into a crumpled heap on the floor. Theon coughed and spat out a mouthful of sticky, mucoid fluid, a mixture of semen and saliva, streaked with tendrils of bright blood. He coughed again, feeling more seed fill his mouth as it cleared up out of his lungs. He spat and spat again, and then lay still where he had been dropped. He felt… Nothing. Numb. Hollow. Dead. He just wanted to be nothing. He wanted it all to be over. Was it over?

Euron crossed the room, still naked, prick still hard, and went through the antechamber beyond. He poured himself a drink and wandered back to lean on the doorframe, head cocked as if he was pondering what to do next. He began to take a step towards Theon - but was interrupted by a sharp knock at his door and a muffled voice calling, “Theon? It’s Asha. I need to talk to you.”

Euron’s face broke into a broad grin that made Theon feel sick. 

He reached over Theon’s huddled body and grabbed his breeches from where they’d been tossed over a chest. Pulling them on, he ambled through the antechamber and to the door. “Asha! My favourite niece. What a lovely  _ surprise _ . Come on in, my dear.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Crow’s Eye?” she asked, as blunt as ever. Theon heard her come in, and the door shut and bolt behind her. Cold fear flooded through him. If Euron could… could... do  _ what he’d just done _ to Theon, what in all the hells would he do to Asha? He pushed weakly at the floor, trying to heave himself up to his knees. He had to defend her. He had to look after her. Fuck, what if Euron really hurt her?

In the other room, they were still talking. “I’ve been winning myself a nice little wager. I think you said… twenty stags?” Euron giggled his childish little laugh. 

Asha scoffed. “You never fucking did!” There was a loud slurping noise and Euron smacked his lips with relish, then giggled again. Asha gasped. “ _ How  _ is that even fucking possible? You’ve been on land for, what? Six fucking hours? What the fuck, Euron?”

Theon could hear the smirk in Euron’s voice. “I told you, I’m a fucking God. He was always going to do it. You should have more faith in my predictions, girl.”

A scuffle of feet. “Oh, fuck off, you old pervert,” Asha told him, but there was no bite to her admonishment. She sounded… tolerant? Amused? Realisation slowly dawned on Theon. Asha was in no danger from Euron. She had made a fucking  _ bet _ with him. Euron had done all this shit to him for a twenty stag wager. He scrabbled to get up. He had to get out. He had to get away from them. 

In the anteroom, Asha was laughing. “Where is he?”

“See for yourself.”

More footsteps and Asha appeared at the door to the bedroom, face full of laughter. “Theon! I hear you’ve been getting up to misch--” She faltered to silence. Theon hunched over on his knees, naked and clutching the remains of the bedsheet to his crotch with his bound hands. His face and hair were smeared with seed, blood still streaked down his chest, his arse and thighs gleaming with oil. He looked up his sister’s horrified face and then turned his face away, burning in shame. He let himself flop back to the cold stone floor, defeated. 

Asha whirled around. “ _ Euron! _ ” He dodged her punch but she grabbed him by the back of his breeches as he tried to duck away, and kicked his knees out from under him. He hit the floor with a wet thud. Asha dropped her weight onto him with her knee on the centre of his back to hold him down. Her dagger was in her hand and she held the tip of it to the point just below his right ear. “Euron, you sick cunt! The bet was to toss him off, not terrify and arserape him!”

Euron seemed entirely unfazed at being pinned to the ground at knifepoint. He shrugged. “I might have got a little carried away. He’s alright. I didn’t damage him.” He turned his head and stared up at Asha with that one milky eye. “You still owe me twenty stags, you bitch.”

Asha stood and booted him in the head. “I owe you a kicking. Get the fuck out.” Euron scrambled to his feet and through the door, turning once he was out of immediate range. 

“Don’t look so down, Theon. The Ironborn might not want you, but the Bravosii pleasure houses would welcome an arse like yours with open arms. You’d earn a fortune in a year.” He flourished his hand and his golden coin appeared between his fingers. With a flick he sent it sailing across the room where it hit Theon’s chest and fell to the floor in front of him with a taunting clink. 

“Get  _ out _ !” she screamed at him, and threw her dagger. It narrowly missed his ear and bounced off the wall behind him, scoring an angry, bloody line down his ribs as it fell. He hissed in pain and looked up at her with astonished hurt - as if he was somehow amazed she was angry with him. “I want you gone on the morning tide, Euron.” Asha growled. 

“I want to fuck the Lannister queen,” Euron replied conversationally, like they were exchanging polite small talk over dinner. “I want a golden ship. I want to ride a dragon. I want to see--”

“Just _fuck off_!” Asha looked around for something else to throw and grabbed the poker from the hearth. She advanced on him and he backed off, opening the door to leave. 

He had one last parting shot. “You were wrong, love! He’s never bitten the pillow at all.” He smirked. “Well, until now.” His childish giggle echoed down the hall long after Asha had slammed the door behind him. 

Asha dropped the poker and hurried back to her brother. “Theon! Theon, are you okay? What the fuck did he do to you?” She ripped the fabric around his wrists, clawing at the wraps until they fell away. Theon hauled himself to sit against the wall and clutched his bed sheet. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at himself. He’d fucked everything up. He stared blankly ahead, numb. His sister shook him by the shoulder. “Theon! Talk to me. Are you hurt?” 

She tried to turn his face to look at her but he shrugged her off and turned away.  He didn’t want to look at anyone. Didn’t want to be near anyone ever again. Especially no one from these  _ fucking _ nightmare islands.  _ They’d made a  _ _ bet _ _ about him! _ He swallowed. He felt sick. These people weren’t his family. They were cruel and hard and unkind. Rapists, murderers and thieves. He may have been born here but he did not belong. He had never belonged.  _ Would _ never belong.  _ Never. _

“Theon, please. Tell me if you’re hurt. Do I need to get the maester?” Asha crouched next to him, talking to him as if he was a child. “Are you…  _ torn _ ?” 

The bluntness of the question - and the suspicion that if he didn’t answer her she might start looking to find out for herself - shook a response out of him. “No!” He held his hands up, keeping her at bay. “No. He… he used oil. I’m bruised and sore, but not… injured.” 

Asha dropped forwards onto her knees. “Well… okay. That’s one thing, at least.” She shifted to lean against the wall next to him. The silence was excruciating. “I just… I don’t understand, Theon. Why would you ever let him in? Everyone knows not to be left alone with the Crow’s Eye!”

Theon glared at her. “Oh everyone knows, do they? Every fucking one knows! Well the news hasn’t spread beyond these fucking shitty islands.” He clenched his fists around handfuls of the bedsheet. Made a conscious effort to loosen his grip. “He was already here when I got back, if you must know. And I thought that as my father’s brother he’d treat me as family and it would be fine to talk with an uncle I hadn’t seen since I was ten.”

Asha gave a dark snort. “He  _ did _ treat you as family. You got off more lightly than some.” She sighed. “Theon, what are you doing here?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “I’ve come home! Ten years I’ve been held hostage by our enemies and when I finally manage to come back, you ask me why the fuck I’m here? What the hell do you think?”

“But this  _ isn’t _ your home, Theon. It’s where you were born, but you don’t belong here. You’re not one of us; you don’t know us. It’s been too long.” Asha held her hands up. “I’m sorry. You’ll always be my baby brother, and I’ll always love you. But you’re only a Greyjoy by birth, now. In everything else, you’re a Stark through and through.”

Theon ripped the sheet he was holding. “I am  _ not _ a fucking Stark!” 

Asha raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You came sailing in under Stark banners, clutching a missive sealed with a Stark’s sigil. Your ship is still at dock, waiting to take you back to the Stark boy’s war.” She cocked her head. “What are we supposed to think?”

Theon’s mouth went dry. Robb had sent him. He’d been sent away from the battles to take a message like some runner boy doing errands for a penny. Anyone could have done this, so why had Robb sent away one of his closest friends and allies, just when he needed him the most? He wanted to get rid of him. He wanted him away. He swallowed, feeling unsteady; the sudden feeling of betrayal leaving him as unbalanced as losing a limb. Asha was looking at him expectantly. He stammered. “I… It’s...  How else was I  _ supposed _ to escape? I’ve had Ned’s sword hanging over my neck for a decade - I had to do whatever I could to get home.”

She pursed her lips. “And you’ve been in chains this whole time? Kept in a cell, guarded, fed on bread and water?” Theon was mute. She exhaled through her nose. “I thought so.” They lapsed into uncomfortable silence again, both looking blankly ahead at the chaotic scatter of items in the room. 

“I was a  _ child, _ Asha.” Theon muttered. “They took me when I was ten years old and told me they would kill me if father did something wrong. I… I was  _ scared _ . And alone. And none of you exactly came to my rescue, did you?” He glared at her, accusingly. “You left me in their hands just as much as I stayed. But I came  _ home _ .” He tore at the sheet again. “It took me ten years but I made it home. And now that I’m finally here…” He fixed her with eyes brimming with tears. “None of you want me. You’re my family and you don’t want me.” He sniffed. “I’m trying my hardest to be one of you, I’m doing everything I can to be one of you! Please… Just give me some time. I’ve been back three days. I need time to readjust.”

Asha was quiet for a moment and then pushed herself to her feet. “It’s too late, Theon.” She walked to the window, staring out at the grey sea. “Go back to the Young Wolf and fight in his war. Make your name at his side, where you can be someone. You’ll never survive, trying to be an Ironborn raider.”  She turned her back on him and went through to the anteroomm calling over her shoulder. “ _ Go. _ Be a Stark. Be happy. Be successful. Be  _ free _ .”  

He listened to her leaving, every step echoing the hollowness in his heart. “Asha!” he called, urgency in his voice. She hesitated, then came back to the bedroom door. Theon stared up at his big sister. “Asha.” His voice was choked. “Tell me… Tell me that there’s an Ironborn Man Ceremony.” He clutched his bedsheet in the same way his heart clutched at this last thread of hope. 

For a moment, Asha’s face showed only blankness. Then her eyes flickered around the room, at the coils of string on the floor, the torn bedsheet, the bloodied dagger, the overturned pot of oil, and her eyes softened into pure pity. She nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Yes. The Man Ceremony. When you become a Man. Yeah.” A reassuring smile that did nothing to take the sadness from her eyes. “Congratulations, Theon.” 

He smiled weakly at her lie. Watched her raise her hand in an awkward farewell, listened to her boots echoing across the stone floor and the metallic scrapings of her working the door latch. The door closed softly behind her, leaving him alone.

He exhaled, expecting the tears to come. But there was nothing. He was nothing. Empty. Numb. At some level, he was aware of the biting cold of the stone under this thighs and across his shoulders, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care enough to move somewhere more comfortable. His thoughts flickered wildly through desperate self pity and crushing fear, but through it all there was a thread of anger that flickered and grew. He grit his teeth. 

He was  _ angry _ . Angry with his father for his utter failure to be in any way fatherly and for sending him away. Angry with the Starks for taking him and bringing him up, not in chains and in fear, but with fairness and honour, alongside their own children, and by doing so had made him an outsider to both sides. Angry with Robb for sending him away at such a crucial point in the war - so much for being ‘ _ brothers _ ’, so much for respecting him as a tactician - he’d never loved him; it had all been lies.  Angry with the fucking  _ stupid _ Iron Islanders and their utter lack of respect for their lords and betters. Angry -  _ seethingly angry _ \- with his uncle Euron and his fucking mind games and for how he’d done what he did and then skipped off without a care in the world. Angry with Asha, for not even being surprised, for barely chastising Euron, for dismissing him as a Stark and for lying to him; lying right to his face because she pitied him. She fucking  _ pitied _ him!

His blood turned to ice in his veins. 

He’d show them. He’d fucking  _ show them _ . Not a fucking Greyjoy? Not good enough to be Ironborn? He’d show them what Theon Greyjoy, Prince of Pyke, heir to the Iron Islands could fucking do. He’d take his father’s paltry eight longships and turn them into the most vicious raiding party the mainland coast had ever seen. He’d make them quake with fear at the sight of his sails on the horizon. He’d take villages, towns, he’d… he’d fucking take  _ Winterfell itself _ . He knew its defences  and weaknesses better than anyone. Once he was in, he’d only need a handful of men to hold it until his father came to claim the prize his only son had won for him. Let them call him a fucking Stark when he was stood on the walls of Winterfell, triumphant and glorious. Let them call him soft and weak when he held the stronghold of the North in his hands. 

He wouldn’t let this break him. He was Ironborn. Nothing could ever be worse than this, and he would survive. He would take their doubt, their mocking, their fucking  _ pity _ , and he would drown in it and rise again.  _ Harder and stronger than anyone ever before.  _

In the chill of the dank room in the Bloody Tower, Theon Greyjoy huddled on the floor and smiled into the darkness. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> I need new plotbunnies - send me ideas or requests.


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